


Gift Horse, Mouth, etc.

by phoenixflight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banter, Curses, First Time, Fluff and Crack, Humor, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, Sex Magic, Truth Spells, misc kink - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/phoenixflight
Summary: Sam gets accidentally stuck with a curse that can only be lifted by acting on his deepest hidden fantasy. Dean thinks it's hilarious, and why won't Sammy just tell him what it is already? It can't be anything that weird.Right?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 46
Kudos: 425





	Gift Horse, Mouth, etc.

**Author's Note:**

> I just love sex curses, ok? 
> 
> The actual sex in this fic is completely vanilla but it contains references to kinks including but not limited to: bestiality, watersports, underage, and necrophilia. Also a passing reference to child prostitution.

The bitch of the matter was that the curse had been an accident. Bobby had a friend down near Lafayette, who had noticed disturbed graves in the cemetery and odd sounds at night; classic corpse-eater signs. Corpse-eaters were a nuisance more than anything, like maggots, but if they cleaned out a cemetery they would start on living targets. Sam and Dean loaded up and headed south on I-55. 

Dean had been in an excellent mood, up until the curse. It was April, the perfect time to escape the lingering, dingy snow in South Dakota and before the muggy southern heat set in. He had the windows rolled down and a straight forward hunt ahead of them. Dean liked it that way. 

Bobby’s friend was a tall black woman named Rosie who lived next door to the church, headstones visible from her back window, and was, as it turned out, a witch. As they were discussing the corpse-eater problem at her kitchen table, Sam accidentally knocked over a pestle full of herbs, and got them on his hands trying to right it. 

Rosie swore, and dusted Sam with powdered bone and blackbird feathers, before sitting back and sighing. “I’m afraid it’s taken on you, son.” 

Dean had been hovering impotently for the last fifteen minutes. “What’s it do? Is it going to hurt him?” Sam looked okay, and kept saying he felt fine, but you never fucking knew with witches. 

Rosie gave him a stern look. “I don’t brew curses, boy. It’s meant to be a gift. Whoever it’s cast on has to fulfill their most dearly held-fantasy.” 

Sam blanched, for some reason. “Has to?” he asked, sounding strangled. 

She shrugged apologetically. “Well. If you want to come again, that is. It was a special order. There’s money in sex magic these days.” 

“So take it off him!” Dean exclaimed. 

“Nothing to be done about it but fill the terms. The whole point is not chickening out.” 

After a certain amount of shouting on Dean’s part, and red-faced silence from Sam, she shooed them both out the door. “You’ve got a corpse-eater to burn tonight. Nothing more I can do for you.” 

“Think we should investigate her?” Dean asked as they drove away. “Doing magic on people, that’s not right.” 

“She’s Bobby’s friend,” Sam said wearily. “Anyway, she said it was on commission. It’s not like she’s doing it without their consent.” 

“Yeah unless they change their mind half way through and can’t get their rocks off forever.” Dean shuddered, and then glanced at Sam’s crotch. “Hey. How’re you doing?” 

“Fine, Dean.” Sam slid down further in the seat, arms crossed over his chest. “Unlike some people I can go more than a day without getting off.” 

“Okay, okay. Just checking.” Actually, as the adrenaline rush and automatic terror of Sam’s-cursed-help-Sam faded, Dean started to see the bright side of this. “So it shouldn’t be too hard to find a girl to hold hands with you in the library and recite Shakespeare over a candlelit dinner.” 

Sam gritted his teeth. “Very funny.” 

“This could be a golden opportunity, actually,” Dean said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “God knows you could use some R’n’R.” 

“Would you drop it?” 

“See, that right there’s what I’m talking about.” He pulled into the motel parking lot and pulled Baby into a space that he could see from their room. “So uptight.” 

“We’re not talking about this,” Sam said, and slammed the door of the Impala as he got out. 

“Hey!” Dean yelled after him. “Gentle with Baby!” 

“You know,” Dean said, leaning on his machete as the remains of the corpse-eater smoked and smoldered in the grass, “it’s not every day you get an excuse to go after your deepest fantasy.” 

Sam was trying to wipe traces of corpse-eater slime his face with his equally filthy t-shirt. “I thought I told you to shut up about it.” 

“I’m just saying! Like, sex on a beach in Bali, well we’d  _ have _ to go, wouldn’t we? Good excuse. I wouldn’t mind a vacation.” 

“We’d have to get on a plane to go to Bali,” Sam said, giving up on his shirt. 

Dean frowned. “We could take a boat. Isn’t it somewhere in the Caribbean?” 

“No. It’s in Indonesia.” Picking up the lighter fluid, Sam strode back toward where they’d parked the car. 

“Don’t bitch at me just because you couldn’t have a fun fantasy like tropical beach sex,” Dean called into the darkness. “Hey, put a towel down before you get in the car! You’ve got guts all over you.” 

Sam continued to evade questions about it over the next few days. Jerking off in the shower every morning Dean was becoming increasingly aware that Sam couldn’t indulge in the same release. It was… well it was weird. They’d always been vaguely aware of one another’s masturbatory habits - came with the territory. But suddenly Dean was thinking about it more than he had in ages.  _ It’s been four days since Sam got off. It’s been a week since Sam got off.  _

Dean thought he’d left all that shit behind in their fucked up childhood - the hyperawareness of Sam’s burgeoning sexuality. Pretending to sleep while Sam jerked off in the other bed. Stealing guilty glances at Sam shirtless at a motel pool or coming out of the shower. Cutting wrestling practice short because he was getting hard. It was just teenage hormones and proximity. The stupid curse brought back the heightened awareness, and with it, the memories that Dean had spent most of the last decade ignoring. 

Still, it was too good teasing material to pretend it wasn’t happening. 

“C’mon, you can find anything on Craigslist. It can’t be that bad,” Dean said over waffles at a diner in Minnesota. “Foot fetish? Latex? Crossdressing? Nobody would be surprised if you want to explore your inner princess, Samantha.” 

“Fuck you,” Sam sighed, and hogged the rest of the syrup. Dean figured he maybe deserved that, and also watching Sam lick maple syrup off his fork was its own kind of reward. 

"Hey, I saw a porno once where this girl was getting gang fucked by a bunch of dogs. Whaddya think, Sammy?"

There was no one else in the laundromat but Sam still jumped a mile and looked around like he expected the police to burst in. “Jesus, Dean!” 

Dean smirked and fed the quarters into the machine. “We passed a kennel two towns back. How much d’ya think we’d have to bribe the owner?” 

“You can’t just  _ say _ things like that!” 

The washer turned on with a thunk. “Just trying to help.” 

“Did I ever tell you about the girl in St. Louis who wanted me to piss on her?” 

Sam’s head snapped around. “What?” 

They were at a deserted rest stop outside Albuquerque, eating stale gas station sandwiches they’d picked up 200 miles ago. 

“Said she’d always wanted to try it but was never brave enough to ask a boyfriend. You know me, I’ll try anything once. She got down on her knees in the tub and. Well. I did.” Sam was staring at him, ham sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Shoulda heard her moaning.” 

“Did… did you like it?” Sam asked, and then blushed scarlet. 

Leaning on Baby’s sun-warm frame, Dean grinned, remembering the same reluctant, embarrassed curiosity in Sam as a teenager when Dean would come home with stories about tits and pussy. The illicit thrill of Sam’s attention was still the same. “Hell yeah. Seeing someone that turned on? That does it for me any day.” 

Sam ducked his head away, bangs falling into his eyes. “Huh. I didn’t think girls were actually into all that alpha male marking shit.” 

“Well, this one was.” Dean chewed a mouthful of tuna-on-rye. “All I’m saying is there’s someone for everything. The world’s full of freaks, Sammy, you don’t have to feel ashamed of whatever it is.” 

That made Sam scowl again, shutting down whatever Dean’s attempt at caring and sharing had opened. “Whatever.” 

Usually Sam was the first one awake, but one morning, about three weeks in, Dean woke up first, with a crack of pale light streaming through the blackout curtains across the shabby motel beds. 

It was May in southern Texas, and Sam had kicked the covers off in the the night. His morning wood strained against his worn boxers and Dean couldn’t help staring. He’d seen Sam naked more times than he could count, had gotten glimpses of him hard a few times, but the thin cotton outlined every detail. The flared head, the upward arching curve. Dean could practically see the damn vein. And Jesus, it was enormous. 

Jerking off in the shower, Dean pictured Sam’s huge, swollen dick - so hard the delicate skin turned scarlet, leaking at the tip, the skin taut and glistening across the crown. Sam’d be so desperate to come by now, if it weren’t for the curse the smallest thing would set him off. Hell, he’d probably already have come in his sleep, rutting against the mattress like when he was a kid, and still be hard for another go in the morning. 

Dean came so hard his knees almost buckled. By the time he got out of the bathroom, Sam was already up and dressed. They avoided one another’s eyes as they got coffee. 

Around the one month mark, Dean was starting to get worried. Yeah, Sam was a monk sometimes, but not hooking up was miles away from not jerking off. And, not that Dean would admit this in a million years, but Sam was younger than him, and four years ago Dean’s libido had been even more insistent than it was now. Sam had to be getting… backed up. 

“You know I’m not going to judge you, right? Whatever it is.” They were crawling through rush hour traffic outside of Denver. 

“Forget it, Dean.” Sam was staring out the window at the city lights passing in the twilight. 

Yeah, fat chance of that. Dean kept his eyes on the taillights in front of him. “I uh. I sleep with guys sometimes.” 

“You - what?” Now Sam was looking at him and Dean felt his cheeks heat. 

“Getting off is getting off. Doesn’t really matter who’s got what.” Dean’s knuckles tightened on the wheel. “S’not a big thing.” 

“No, I.” Sam stopped and Dean heard the seat creak as he shifted. “Thanks for telling me.” 

“Hey, don’t get all RENT on me. Just because I’ve sucked dick doesn’t mean I want to sing about my feelings.” 

“No chick flick moments, got it.” 

They crawled another couple of miles, until the traffic started to ease up beyond the suburbs. “I’m just saying, if there’s anything you want to tell me…” Dean began. 

Sam blew out a heavy breath. “No.” 

“Look, man, I don’t want you to live this way forever! No one deserves that.” 

Sam just shook his head, jaw locked. 

In the middle of the night in Topeka, Dean woke up to a soft sound in the bed beside him. He jolted awake with the instincts honed over years of listening for sounds of Sammy sick or distressed in the middle of the night. 

Sam’s breathing was wet and uneven, hitching arrhythmically. For a moment Dean thought Sam was jerking off, and wondered what kind of masochism that was, and then realized that Sam was trying to sob silently. 

Dean lay awake in the dark for a long time listening to his brother cry. 

A hunt for a rogue vampire had taken them into Chicago. It was late, coming back from stakeout, and they were walking through a rough part of town. Junkies, unlucky vets, and runaway kids slept in doorways, and the evening bar crowd milled loudly through the streets. 

A scrawny, pale boy with a mess of dark curls was leaning against a lamp post, watching passersby with one hip cocked out and a provocative pout that somehow managed to also be a scowl. He didn’t look old enough to drive. When he caught Dean’s eye, he tipped his head and licked his lips - an obvious invitation. Dean shook his head slightly, offered the kid a wry smile. It wasn’t as if Dean hadn’t considered it once or twice when he was that age and money was tight - had done a few things short of standing on a street corner. But it got him thinking. 

When they were alone again, back in the hotel - always so fucking expensive in cities - Dean said, “You know, you can still tell me, even if it’s something illegal.” 

Sam’s whole body jerked, and he looked up, face gone pale. “What do you mean?” 

Something sick rolled in Dean’s gut. He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’d work it out no matter what. If it was something like… you know. Kids. Or… we do spend a lot of time around corpses…” 

“No!” Sam yelped, looking even sicker than Dean felt. “God, no. It’s… it’s not. That.” 

“Then, what?” Dean lifted both hands, palm up, almost yelling. “What could it possibly be, Sam?” Sam was shaking his head vigorously, eyes averted. “Something impossible? Alien probing? Unicorn dick? Just because I’ve never  _ seen _ a unicorn doesn’t mean they’re not real…” 

Sam let out a harsh, tearing laugh and sank down on one of the beds, head in hands. 

Dean’s chest twisted painfully. “Why can’t you just tell me, Sammy?” There were tears clogging the back of his throat, choking him. Fuck, how embarrassing was that? “We can fix this.”

“Nobody can fix it,” Sam said. “Even if I told you…”

“Told me what?” Dean’s voice cracked in the middle and he went to his knees on the cheap, scratchy carpet beside the bed, like ducking to Sam’s level back when Sam was a shrimp.

Sam lifted his head and his expression was so bleak and defeated that it made Dean's stomach turn. The bags under Sam's eyes were deeper than Dean had seen them since their last brush with hell. His mouth was twisted down miserably. He wasn't crying but his eyes were red. “My fantasy is that you want me back,” he whispered. 

For a long moment, Dean stared at him, uncomprehending. Outside traffic rumbled by, and elsewhere in the building old pipes rattled and groaned. Sam curled his fists in the bedspread and set his jaw, defiant, as if preparing to be punched. 

Dean opened his mouth, closed it again. Opened it. "You- me- what?"

"Yes, Dean, you and me." There was a hard, grim glint in Sam's eye.

“But you... We... we could have done this ages ago,” Dean spluttered.

“Don't you get it Dean?” Sam snapped, “That's why I couldn't say anything. Don't you think I don't know what you would do for me by now? After the deal? After everything? It won't work because you don't really want it!” 

Dean swallowed hard. His mind was racing, heart pounding in his throat. Sam was saying... A flush shivered through Dean’s body. 

Sam was saying that all along it had been both of them. And that was a thought that didn't bear close examination right now, because they had a curse to break. Trust Sam to get all tangled up in the details. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Is it… is it a specific thing?" he asked, wetting his lips with his tongue. "The deepest fantasy, I mean?"

Sam laughed, harsh and bitter. "I've imagined just about everything two people can do together, but it's nothing specific. Just… you." 

Nodding slowly, Dean pushed himself up off his heels on the floor and dropped onto the bed beside Sam. "Okay, then," he said, shoving Sam backward and going for his belt.

Sam squawked and bucked, trying to throw him off. “No, Dean, don't, you don't…”

Locking an arm across Sam's hip to hold him in place, Dean lifted his head. “If it works will you believe me?” 

Sam's eyes widened, and Dean didn't wait for a response, yanking Sam’s jeans down around his knees and wrapping a hand around his cock. It was hot and silky, hardening rapidly in his grasp. Dean’s mouth was watering, his own dick aching in his jeans, pressed against the bedspread. Overthinking was the enemy here.  _ Sam wants this. Sam needs this.  _

Closing his lips around the head of Sam’s cock, Dean tasted the salty pulse of precome as Sam shuddered and groaned. Jesus, Sam was huge. Dean’s jaw ached as he took him deeper, spit sliding down to slick his fist. Propping himself up on his elbows, Dean cupped one hand beneath Sam’s heavy balls, working the other steadily at the base of his shaft. 

The secret to an awesome blowjob was rhythm, and Dean was awesome in bed. Sam writhed and moaned barely human sounds, hands fluttering around Dean’s head and shoulders, grabbing at him and then pulling back uncertainly. Dean ignored him and pulled out all the stops, bobbing his head steadily, tongue curling beneath the crown, rolling Sam’s balls in his palm, humping the bed a little himself because  _ fuck _ , he’d been trying not to think about having Sam’s dick in his mouth for a decade. 

It didn’t take long. Sam tensed, and then his cock jerked on Dean’s tongue, and Sam wailed as he spilled an enormous load in Dean’s mouth. 

Sputtering, Dean pulled off as Sam continued to shoot all over his abs. He wiped his mouth on his arm, watching fascinated as Sam’s dick twitched with aftershocks and drooled pearly liquid, still mostly hard. 

Dean cleared his throat. “I’m not going to tease you about how fast that was because you haven’t come in a month. But I want you to remember that I’m not teasing you about it, because I’m an awesome big brother.” 

Sam just panted, glassy-eyed. There was a scarlet flush from his ears to his nipples, and he had come streaked across his chest, cock glistening still mostly hard against his thigh. Dean’s own neglected dick throbbed. 

Getting his knees under him, Dean unzipped his jeans and moaned a little at the relief. 

“How long?” Sam croaked. “Dean, how long?” 

Dean paused, one hand shoved into his boxers. “Um.” His expression must have been guilty as hell, because Sam was all over him suddenly, hands cupping his face and grasping his shoulders, pulling him over onto the bed beside Sam in a clumsy tangle. 

“I can’t believe -” Sam was saying, and “Dean,” and “Let me,” and Dean let him. Sliding Dean’s underwear down and snapping the band beneath his balls, Sam closed his fingers around Dean’s cock and started stroking him hard. 

Sam’s hands,  _ Christ _ . Even when Dean hooked up with guys, he wasn’t used to the size of Sam’s palms, the rough callouses from shovels and guns. There was only one person whose hands they could be, really, and that had Dean arching up into Sam’s grip, groaning like it was something specialer than a handjob. Sam was curled up against his side, nuzzling against his neck, licking and nipping at his ear and his throat, whispering Dean’s name over and over in between disjointed, helpless things about want and need,and Dean felt his balls drawing tight. 

He turned his head toward Sam to say something, and Sam’s mouth was suddenly on his. 

Dean came in a shock that ripped through his whole body at once, curling his toes and leaving him dizzy. There was jizz all over his belly and all over Sam’s hand and arm. 

They lay side by side afterward, sweat and come cooling until Dean mopped them both up with his t-shirt and threw it off the end of the bed. The radiator clanked on and a siren wailed somewhere in the city. 

“You really…?” Sam began, after a long silence. 

“Curse broke, didn’t it?” Dean grunted, sitting up. “You want pizza?” 

He grabbed his phone and busied himself looking up a delivery place, trying to avoid  _ talking about it _ , but he could feel Sam ruminating behind him. He got all the way through placing the order - a large meat lovers, a large veggie, and a side of wings - and was looking for another distraction when Sam said, “I understand now what she meant.” 

“Who?” 

“Bobby’s witch friend, whatshername. Rosa?” 

“Rosie.”

“Yeah. I understand what she meant about it being a gift.” 

Reluctantly, Dean turned, eyebrows raised. “Dude. You didn’t come for a month.” 

“Yeah. But now we both know it’s real. We’re not… hiding, or lying about it. We can’t. Even if we had...” he waved a hand vaguely, “stumbled on it, don’t you think you’d have felt guilty and wondered if I really felt the same way or if I was just going along with it?” 

That was a little too true for comfort. “Still think it was fucking skeevy,” Dean muttered. “Irresponsible magic at best.” 

“Are you gonna let me kiss you again?” 

Dean ducked his head, face burning. “Yeah,” he mumbled. 

Sam beamed. “See? A gift.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!  
> Follow me on my spn tumblr at [ nevergettingoverwincest](http://nevergettingoverwincest.tumblr.com)


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